To Bed A Death Eater

by usignolo

In a world filled with desperation and doubt, you sometimes just need to devote yourself to ecstasy.

4. Devotion Part I

Chapter 4: Devotion [Part I]

Snape's sudden question knocked all wind from her lungs, immediately bringing her brain to a standstill.

At first, she was not even sure that she had heard him correctly. Surely, he had not just said what she thought he had; there was simply no way. But as the words echoed through her addled mind over and over again – may I kiss you, may I kiss you, may I kiss you – she could not help but turn to him in shock, with her honey-brown eyes opened wide.

"W-what?" she asked in a breathless whisper, her voice sounding awfully choked.

His face contorted seemingly in agony.

"If this is your first time, I want to –, I would like to try to make this an at least somewhat enjoyable experience for you." He spoke in a manner which was a lot faster than he usually did, nearly causing him to stumble over his own words. "And it would also make the whole process significantly easier if you were … aroused to some degree."

Hermione stared at him open-mouthed. All of a sudden, she was painfully aware of the blood rushing through her ears, the rhythmical throbbing inside those minuscule veins being almost deafeningly loud. She was completely and utterly speechless, something which had only occurred so rarely in her life. Snape actually wanted to kiss her? To have this be more than just a quick, rough shag of necessity? Her eyes wandered to where his hand was laying on top of her thigh. Was this why he had been touching her this whole time? To arouse her?

"Though I would of course understand it if you would rather I did not," Snape was quick to add when she did not reply straightaway, still too flabbergasted to speak. The hint of self-hatred was back in his tone, and Hermione loathed herself for making him feel this way, for making him think she was rejecting him.

Because she was not.

Without thinking, she grabbed his arm and held it in place when he made to remove his hand from her thigh. It sounded insane, but she liked him touching her there. She wanted him to keep touching her there. Even amidst her current emotional turmoil, the feel of his firm hand against her clothed leg was nothing short of heavenly. She dared not think of how his hands might feel on other parts of her body, of how his fingers might feel stroking her bare skin.

"You can kiss me," she heard herself say. "If you want."

Snape remained completely motionless; however, the muscles of his hand tensed up beneath hers, and Hermione thought that even with the blindfold on, she could see his eyebrows draw together at her words. Although it had been his suggestion, he was clearly still hesitant for some reason. Perhaps he did not quite believe her, not after she had failed to answer him right away. Hermione wanted to scream.

When she had originally volunteered to help him break the curse, she had admittedly not given much thought to how it would all actually transpire. Even whilst she had been vehemently sermonising in an attempt to persuade him to accept her offer, she had not given any significant amount of consideration to the inevitable consequences of her efforts. Only when he had presented her with the second potion had reality truly set in; only then had she become fully aware of the fact that this could quite possibly end up being a very painful and traumatising experience for her and begun to feel frightened.

But now, Snape had just openly confessed that he would prefer her to be an active participant in this rather than an expedient object. He was willing to kiss her, to touch her – and Hermione desperately wanted him to, she realised. She needed this to be something more than a clinical, mechanical act, needed to trick her brain into believing that she had simply embarked on a sensual adventure with someone who actually cared about her and her well-being rather than think about the fact that she was actually about to have sex for the very first time because of a curse which had been meant to eradicate her kind.

Just like he had done not minutes earlier, Hermione bent her knee and turned her body until she was able to look at Snape straight on. The change in position caused their joined hands to slip towards the inside of her thigh, and she had to suppress the hiss that was threatening to escape her. Reaching out, she took hold of his other hand and slowly brought it up to her face. The feathery touch of his fingertips against her right cheekbone felt electric. With his hand so close to her nostrils, she was able to detect his unique scent which had been cultivated from years of daily brewing and made him smell of fresh-cut grass, sandalwood and smoke.

The way his shoulders abruptly stiffened told her that Snape understood what she had tried to wordlessly convey, and so she let her hand fall away from his. The old, somewhat saggy mattress shifted under his weight as the wizard leaned forward. Hermione closed her eyes. She could sense his hand slowly wander lower, capturing her chin between his fingers. The way his thumb just ever so slightly skimmed across the contour of her lower lip sent an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Snape continued to draw nearer until he was close enough so that she could feel his breath on her skin, and then he stopped. Hermione knew that he was giving her enough time to pull away, and for just a split second, she wondered if she should. But no, she knew in her heart that she wanted this. She wanted to help him, wanted to break this goddamn curse, and she also wanted him to kiss her. Hence, she gave a single tiny nod of her head, and that was enough for Snape to close the distance between them.

His lips brushed against hers only lightly at first. They were rather thin but incredibly soft somehow, and though they were barely even touching her, this simple caress was enough to make something explode inside her chest and send sparks flying all the way down to the tips of her toes, making it very hard to breathe. When she did not shrink back, Snape dipped his head down and pressed his mouth against hers just a bit more aggressively, and Hermione felt like her entire body had been set ablaze. She was so overwhelmed by sensations she had never known she was even capable of feeling that she thought that if she were to open her eyes right now, the world around her would be spinning and whirling and tilting. In fact, she was so sure of it that she reflexively brought both of her arms up and clung to him as though she was trying to keep herself from collapsing.

"Okay?" Snape muttered against her lips, and not quite trusting herself to speak, Hermione simply pulled him back into the kiss.

Their lips moulded together, dancing in perfect harmony almost as if they had never done anything else. Hermione let out a wild gasp when his hand promptly wandered to the back of her neck, gently tipping her head to create a better angle, and once more when his tongue suddenly darted out to tentatively trace the seam of her bottom lip. She could not believe that it was Severus Snape of all people making her feel this way – like her blood was boiling underneath her skin, like the air around her was bursting into blasts of electricity – with nothing more than a simple kiss. Following an instinct, she parted her lips and was rewarded when his tongue slipped into her mouth. His taste was clean if a bit sharp, a hint of Firewhisky in the essence of his breath. In her callowness, she tried to mirror his actions, and soon their tongues were moving in unison, exploring and teasing and worshipping.

Hermione felt so hot. This kiss was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. The smooches she had secretly exchanged with Viktor back in fourth year, which had always been rather awkward and drooly more than anything else, had certainly never felt this good. It was clear that Snape had more expertise and that he knew what he was doing. His skilled movements were doing unbelievable things to her. It felt like her lips were burning, aching almost, but in a good way.

Wanting – no, needing – more, her hands left his shoulders and moved upwards until her fingers knotted in his raven-black hair. She twisted and pulled, roughly beckoning him closer, and he happily complied. Their lips met with more force, and Merlin, was it glorious. When his hand then all of a sudden squeezed her thigh, Hermione could not stifle an unintentional whimper. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clutched him to her; and she silently rejoiced when one of his sneaked around her waist in response.

The increased physical contact felt marvellous, though their positioning, with their legs trapped between their entwined bodies, did make things a bit difficult. Still, wanting more – always more – Hermione leaned forward and pressed herself against him as much as she possibly could. In return, Snape let out a deep rumbling sound. She sensed him tighten his grip around her midst and squealed into his mouth when he suddenly lifted her up and pulled her towards him, seemingly without any effort. She soon found herself on top of him, straddling his lap.

Although she had just been furiously snogging him, this sudden closeness nevertheless did not fail to make her face and chest flush bright red. It was all just happening so fast. It felt like only a second ago that their lips had first touched with such caution, and now her body was already wrapped around his so intimately, hugged to his so tightly.

Worst of all, in her inexperience, everything somehow felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Hermione simultaneously wanted to stick her tongue down his throat and run away screaming. Even though she should probably be thankful for the fact that this whole situation was not nearly as awkward and uncomfortable as she had predicted it might be, it almost scared her how good merely kissing him felt. But of course, there was no turning back now. She could not possibly show any hesitation, not now, not before the curse was broken. Snape had already been so reluctant to go through with it to begin with, had been so unwilling to in any way "compromise her virtue". It was essential for the safety of all womankind that he not pick up on her uncertainty, even if she was half mad with dread right now.

However, unfortunately, he seemed to have noticed already.

Releasing his hold on the nape of her neck, Snape pulled back until she could see him clearly, and she yet again internally thanked the stars that his usually so penetrating gaze was hidden behind a strip of plum-coloured silk. Moreover, the blindfold also graciously protected her from his Legilimency skills – or at least she was pretty sure it did. From what she had read about the topic, he should not be able to delve into her thoughts without at least looking at her. But then again, he was such a talented wizard … maybe he could? No, no. Best not think about that.

"Is everything all right?" he asked in that gruff voice of his, a burning edge to his words which nearly coaxed a tremor out of her.

Hermione gulped. "Yeah," she breathed softly, trying her hardest to keep from faltering.

"Are you certain? You seem a bit flustered." His brows scrunched up in a frown, and he let his hands fall from her form. "Perhaps I have acted too impetuously. I beg your pardon … I forgot myself."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"No, it's –, it's fine!" she hurriedly reassured him. "Really! I was just startled, that's all."

"Don't you lie to me! I may be without sight, but I can still sense how much you are trembling," he spat in a dangerously low tone. "This was obviously a mistake. I should have never even come here."

With that, he made to shove her off of him. Hermione felt a wave of acid well up from her belly.

"No, r-really, I swear!" she spluttered feverishly, resisting his attempt to push her aside. "I'll admit that I may be a bit nervous, but that's only because I have never done this before! But that doesn't mean that we have to stop!"

Snape did not answer, but she could see his mouth slowly set into a grim line. Blind panic began to well inside her.

No! You cannot let him leave, not now!

Hermione's wild thoughts were spinning around in her head at lightning speed. Oh, but what could she possibly say or do to prevent him from darting out of the room this very second?! The curse had to be broken, and it could only be broken if he stayed. She had to convince him somehow, someway – even if that meant that she would have to practically beg her erstwhile teacher not to leave her bed. It was a humiliating thought, but it simply had to be done. For the greater good. For his life to be saved. And, she realised, for her, too. Because deep inside, she knew that she did not want him to leave, curse or no curse.

"We don't have to stop, because –" The witch willed herself to swallow her embarrassment. "Because I like this."

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to grab his hands and put them back on her hips.

"I like the way you touch me."

She reached out and took his sunken face into her quivering hands.

"I like the way you kiss me."

She pressed a soft, closed-mouthed peck onto his unmoving lips.

"I-I," she stammered, her voice but a whisper. "I like the way you make me feel."

She kissed him again, and for a painfully long, drawn-out moment, his lips remained hard as stone. Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach. Oh no, now she had messed it up for good – now he was going to reject her once and for all! She had failed in her one mission.

But then, she suddenly felt Snape clench the fingers on her hips, roughly pulling her closer. She barely had any time to think before his lips attacked hers, fiercely and hungrily and passionately. A choked sob escaped her when he unexpectantly bit her lower lip with his worn teeth, giving her the sensation of that good kind of pain.

"Do you mean that?" he groaned low in his throat between kisses.

Hermione's head was spinning. "W-what?"

Snape's lips left hers and trailed down to her throat, nibbling their way to the crook of her neck in warm and wet kisses.

"Did you mean it," he muttered against her skin. "When you said you like me kissing you?"

His mouth latched onto the very spot at the side of her neck underneath her jaw where her heartbeat was pulsating at a rapid rate, and Hermione thought that she was about to lose her sanity. Her eyes fluttered closed.

"Y-yes," she managed to stutter out.

Snape slipped his hands underneath her woollen sweater, almost making her jump, and let his potion-stained fingers dance across the small of her back.

"You like me touching you?" he whispered.

"Yes ..."

His lips wandered back up and stopped just shy of her mouth, hovering right above it. She breathed in his heady scent.

"You like the way I make you feel?" he murmured hoarsely.

Hermione licked her dry lips. "I do."

"Why?"

Confused, she opened her eyes. "What?"

Letting out a loud growl, Snape seized her waist again and pulled her towards him even more, in doing so rolling her hips against his crotch and eliciting a breathless "Oh!" from the young woman.

"Why?" he repeated almost with a snarl.

"Because you make me feel … make me feel … so … alive."

In an instant, his lips were back on hers. His insistent tongue delved into her mouth, ravishing her mercilessly, and Hermione could not help but mewl when his hands moved downwards and took a firm hold of her buttocks. His touch felt divine, and it made her body ache in all the good ways.

"G-gods, yes!" she moaned weakly into his mouth in a voice that sounded foreign to her own ears when he drew her nearer, making her rock against his groin.

It just all felt so unbelievably good. So good, in fact, that she could not stop herself from grinding back against him – and that was when she felt it.

Something hard.

Hermione nearly froze. Indeed, it took all of her carefully crafted self-control to keep from showing her shock and surprise in any discernible way. She could not give him even a single miniscule reason to doubt her certainty, of course, lest he should try to take flight again. However, that which she had just felt down there was irrefutable proof that he might just be just as affected by all of this as she was, and it also served as an all too real reminder of what was obviously soon to come. The thought alone was enough to give her a sudden stab of anxiety in her gut.

Don't be ridiculous! You're a Gryffindor, you're brave! You can do this!

The Muggle-born swallowed hard. She knew that the most vital thing to do right now was to quiet those multitudinous frantic voices inside her head. So, in a bid to keep from overthinking, she simply continued to kiss him, excitedly and desperately and voraciously. And despite herself, her unsteady fingers began to work on opening the first of the many buttons running along the front of his black frock coat – which, though having fought face to face with bloodthirsty Death Eaters on multiple occasions, may just be the most terrifying thing she had ever done in her entire life. But all the same, she thought it a good idea to keep her hands busy right now, and unfastening those countless tiny buttons without the aid of magic seemed to lend itself.

By the time she undid the last button, the tips of her fingers had practically grown numb. In lieu of knowing what else to do now, Hermione gingerly pushed apart the fronts of the garment, and Snape shrugged it off along with his outer robes, revealing a tight-fitting, all-white dress shirt. She toyed with his regency-style cravat whilst his mouth wandered down to her neck again, leaving faint love bites in its trail. Hermione strained her neck and leaned into his caress, relishing in the involuntary shudders his sucking and nibbling induced.

After a while, Snape righted himself and leaned forward to kiss the corner of her mouth.

"May I?" he enquired, tugging at the hem of her jumper.

A nervous frisson shot through her. She was painfully aware of the fact that she was not wearing any sort of undershirt underneath her sweater, and the mere idea of being so exposed in front of him made her feel awfully shy all of a sudden. She almost wanted to smack his hands away; however, she immediately chided herself for that thought. It was surely silly to act all coy about being topless in the presence of someone who was blindfolded, especially if the sole objective of this whole endeavour was for them to shag anyway – and even though she might be lacking experience, she still knew that that required at least some amount of nudity. Besides, she reasoned with herself, she had started it when she had begun to fiddle with those stupid, little buttons of his.

And so, she simply gave an affirmative "Mm-hmm." that sounded more confident than she actually felt and dutifully lifted her arms when he proceeded to pull the jumper over her head, tossing it onto the floor behind them.

The frigid air hit her bare skin like an arctic breeze and made every single hair on her body rise into goose bumps. Hermione shivered, though she was not quite sure whether that was by virtue of the cold or rather the way his calloused hands felt against her back. They roamed her body, travelling from the waistband of her jeans up her spine all the way to her shoulder blades, caressing her as Snape kissed her again, softly and sweetly this time. This gentleness was hardly any less maddening than when he had been so brazen earlier; it caused her stomach to do somersaults and nearly made her forget all about her self-consciousness.

It was only when he slipped the straps of her bra off of her shoulders that she grew tense again. Yet as if on purpose, Snape chose this exact moment to deepen their kiss, fuelling it with newfound ardour; and Hermione well-nigh melted. She was so distracted by his lips that she did not even seem to notice when his hands sneaked down to her bra clasp, quickly unhooking it with expertise. The delicate undergarment falling from her form took her by surprise, but the man left her little time to react. Never breaking their kiss, he circled her in his arms and gathered her against him. Her nipples brushed against the rough fabric of his shirt, and it sparked off thrills of pleasure throughout her body.

The world was all heat and tension. Snape sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, and Hermione was shocked at how eagerly she responded, pressing herself against him and consequently heightening that delicious sensation caused by having his chest rub against hers. She could sense Snape's right hand travel up the line of her body and slip between them, cupping her ample breast. His digits skimmed against her taut nipple, and she trembled all over.

Her lips instinctively parted when he turned his attention to her neck once more. Dipping his head, he slowly worked his way down her throat. As his mouth at last closed around the mound of her other, hitherto disregarded breast, Hermione felt her chest grow so tight that it became impossibly hard to breathe. He flicked his tongue, and she felt something hot shoot through her. The wet warmth of his mouth made her feel like she was only one spark away from exploding and kept her mind occupied enough to numb the insecurity she would have ordinarily experienced, now that his fingers were grazing the nasty scar that she had acquired two summers ago at the Ministry of Magic – the one unconcealable remnant of Dolohov's curse which still marred her torso, spreading across her ribs like veins of lightning.

Without thinking, Hermione reached out, allowing her fingers to entangled themselves in Snape's lank hair. She hauled him up only to promptly crash her lips against his. Her kiss was fervid and unyielding, and he answered her with enthusiasm. He grunted when she rocked into him again, and she was glad to notice that she was not the only one breathing heavily.

Desperate for more skin contact, her hands found his neck and fumbled around until they finally managed to free him of his cravat. Next, they tackled his dress shirt, working so clumsily that she very nearly ripped off a button or two in the process. When she had at long last succeeded in opening the shirt, she greedily pulled it apart and made to touch him – but before the edges of her fingernails could even graze his chest, Snape shackled her wrists without warning, stilling her hands with such force that it hurt.

Hermione yipped and gave him a bewildered stare. "What's wrong?"

But Snape did not respond. He simply kept holding onto her arms with a grip as hard as steel, his face strangely expressionless.

A deep line formed between Hermione's eyebrows. To say that she was confused would have been an understatement. Just a moment ago, he had been so zealously kissing and touching her, and now he sat as still as a statue. This sudden change perplexed her, and that feeling only continued to grow until she could no longer bear to look at him. She finally dropped her gaze – and that was when she saw it.

At the sight of his naked torso, Hermione could not stifle a sharp intake of breath. Snape's entire upper body was absolutely littered in countless bruises and scars, both faded and fresh. Thick, jagged furrows cut across his chest, intersecting here and there with deep, angry gashes, more or less healed puncture wounds and circular lesions which looked suspiciously like cigarette burns. Some of the marks were seemingly new and still pink in colour, whereas others were so silvery white that they stood out noticeably, even against his deathly pale complexion. Her widened eyes had trouble finding an untainted part of his chest, one which had not at one point or another fallen prey to brutal violence. Her qualms about her own scars suddenly seemed more than infantile.

"What … what happened?" she rasped in an anguished whisper. "What in Merlin's name was done to you?"

No response.

"Who did this to you?"

Snape opened his mouth, but not a sound came out. He slowly closed it again as his hold on her wrists loosened. He let his head slump forward, his hair falling around his face like curtains.

Hermione pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. She could feel her eyes start to burn with tears. For so many years, she had seen Snape as nothing more than her dour, surly Potions professor, an enigmatic man of unmatched brilliance, crude words and ruthless insults who had always either caught her and her friends in their idiotic escapades or helped clean up the mess afterwards. Yes, once she had learnt of his bravery in the fight against evil, she had begun to regard him with an entirely new type of silent admiration. But up until now, she had not been able to fully fathom just how great the price he paid for his loyalty to the cause. Before her was a broken man – a man who was forbidden from ever breaking but still already had; who had been broken and forced to mend himself over and over again; and whose battered body told harrowing tales of degradation, torment and suffering. The realisation threatened to tear her heart into a million pieces and only made her more determined to spare him the punishment he would undoubtedly receive should he not find a way to break the curse.

Slipping out of his grasp, her hands reached out and made contact with his skin. Snape did not move a muscle as the tip of her index finger cautiously traced the smooth and straight seam of a particularly prominent scar which ran diagonally in a vicious, red line from where his left collarbone connected to his shoulder down to his sternum. Next, she felt the irregular ridges of the scarring that sullied the right sight of his abdomen, creating a large, sunken recess in his skin. Hermione continued in this manner, mapping his chest with her touch and committing every single undeserved mark to memory for safekeeping, determined to brand them all into her mind so that she should never dare forget his sacrifice.

"It's not right," she ultimately told him as she delicately removed the silver-coated cufflinks which fastened his sleeves together. She slid his shirt off of his shoulders and watched it pool around his haunches. Laying her hand flat against his stomach and feeling the rapid rise and fall of his shallow breathing, she pressed a gentle kiss right above his heart. "You don't deserve this. Any of this."

Snape flinched when her fingers curled around his inner left forearm, where she knew his Dark Mark to be.

"You don't," she repeated, and she did not protest when he wangled out of her grasp and roughly pushed her backwards. His hands groped at her breasts, twisting her buds between his fingers. As he lapped at her throat, he emitted a pained groan that for some strange reason sounded like music to her ears. Hermione moaned and threw her head back. She did not stop him when he unzipped her jeans and shoved his hand down her knickers with savage urgency.

Yes, do what you want to me. Whatever you want, you brave, brave man.

Running his fingers through her thatch of soft curls, he found her wetness. He pressed down on the swollen nub between her damp folds, and Hermione bucked against his touch. Straightaway, a warmth blossomed within her, unfurling in her belly like roaring fire, as his index finger brushed against her clit in such a deliberate manner that it caused her breathing to seize and her thighs to tremble.

His inexplicable command of her body was utterly incomprehensible to her. She could not understand how it was that Snape seemed to know exactly where to touch her, how to caress her sensitive skin in a way that made every single muscle, every single tendon of hers twitch excitedly in agonised anticipation. They were virtual strangers, having never so much as exchanged more than a few sentences at a time before tonight, and yet he was currently coaxing her to levels of ecstasy she had not believed possible. Never before had she experienced something like this, a pleasure so raw that it was almost painful. With each slow, circular motion of his finger, an unbearable pressure was beginning to build within her; it created a type of sensation which she had never known previously, but one which she intuitively knew she would now continue to chase until the day she breathed her last. She was teetering at the edge of something she did not know, and she thought she might die – die if he did not stop but also die if he did.

Hermione wanted to cry out in unexampled frustration when he suddenly pulled his hand away, but the only noise that left her lips was a surprised yelp as he flipped the two of them over, trapping her between the mattress and his broad frame. In an instant, his mouth was back on hers, and she lost herself in the feel of him. Through her half-lidded eyes, she was able to vaguely make out the ungraceful movements of his long legs as he hurriedly kicked off his dragon skin boots. She could but feebly slide her limbs around against the sheets when he sucked at her pulse, momentarily paralysing her ever-active mind.

Snape moved from her neck down to her chest, his tongue tracing an invisible path leading from between her breasts to her belly; and ironically enough, the only thing she could think of was how glad she was that she had happened to have showered earlier in the afternoon. He licked the outline of her navel, leaving a tingling sensation in his wake, before he sat up and shuffled down to the end of the much too small bed, which squeaked alarmingly under his weight. Wrapping his wiry hands around her ankles, he gently eased first one and then the other foot out of her tennis shoes, which soon came to a rest on the room's wooden floor with two loud thumps. Then he leaned forward again, hooking his fingers in the loops of her jeans, and Hermione obediently lifted her hips, allowing him to pull them off along with her underwear in one swift motion.

The cold draught, which was somehow omnipresent in the Black family residence even during the summer months, immediately nipped at her exposure, mercilessly clawing at the wet heat emanating from her arousal. Hermione briefly mused that she should probably have felt abashed again, being totally naked except for her knitted socks, but truth be told, she was beyond caring at this point. The only thing she wanted right now was to feel his hand between her legs again.

The old bedspring gave a grating creak when Snape bent down and lifted her left foot towards him. Hermione arched her back with a content sigh as he showered her calf in open-mouth kisses that tickled her skin. She ran a finger over her tingling lips, subconsciously yearning for the moment when his talented tongue would yet again collide with hers – preferably whilst at the same time continuing his oh so titillating efforts from before.

But evidently, the wizard had other plans in mind. Slowly sliding his hand up behind her knee, he kissed his way up her leg, and it was only when his sensual caressing reached the inside of her thigh that Hermione suddenly realised where he was headed. A bolt of panic hit her.

"No, don't!" she shrieked as she writhed in his arms. Clamping her knees together and accidentally almost striking his jaw in the process, she tried in vain to scramble away from him.

With his strong arms still wrapped around her squirming legs, Snape raised his head and fixated his sightless gaze on her.

"Hermione," he said calmly, but it was as if she could not hear him. She simply continued to struggle in his awkward embrace, kicking and flailing her limbs.

"Hermione!" he repeated himself, louder this time, and finally she stopped her thrashing.

The brunette watched with bated breath as Snape let go off her and sat back on his heels.

"What is the matter?" he asked evenly. "Would you like us to stop?"

All colour drained from her face.

"No! No, not –, not stop, just –" She swallowed dryly, unable to wet her parched throat. "There's no need for you to do … to do that. Can't we just move on to –"

Snape pursed his lips. "You are not ready yet."

"But –"

He cut her off by abruptly leaning forward until he was almost looming over her. He nudged one of her knees with his elbow, and at first, she was afraid that he might try to pick up right where he had left off. But no, he was moving upwards and not downwards, and so she let him push her legs apart.

Snape carefully settled himself over her. Through his clothes, she could feel his erection press against the cradle of her thighs, making her stomach churn with both excitement and dread. His hand found her cheek, and he brushed his thumb against her temple almost tenderly.

"You trust me, do you not?"

Hermione took her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yes."

"Then relax." He pressed a chaste kiss on her Cupid's bow. "Please."

His other hand glided down the smooth curve of her body and came to a rest on her hip. His fingers massaged her muscles, urging away the tension which had gathered there.

"I … I don't know if I can," she confessed in a whisper.

Snape kissed her. His mouth never left hers as his hand moved from her waist down to her knee and back up again, eventually taking hold of her backside. He squeezed her arse, and despite her current state of restlessness, Hermione still could not help but delight in the feeling of his rough palm against her overheated skin.

"I understand. But just try."

His hand had somehow found its way between her legs again, and Hermione felt a heinous whimper being pulled from her when the pad of his thumb rolled over her clit.

"Try to relax. Try to let go enough to allow me to do this for you. Believe me, it will make … everything after this a lot easier."

She groaned throatily when the friction against her most sensitive flesh increased, and Snape hushed her cries with his mouth. He was positively devouring her, his tongue subduing hers as he resumed his relentless attack, rubbing and stroking her bundle of nerves in a way that made a sudden flare of heat pulse through her. Tendrils of fire began to pool deep inside her core and her hips jerked helplessly against his touch. His lips slid down her jaw whilst her hands reached out gracelessly, clutching at his back and feeling countless more, yet unseen scars there.

Nuzzling her throat, he lightly nipped the lobe of her ear before he descended further, laving her breasts and sucking at her sensitive nipples. Hermione briefly tensed up when Snape's thumb slipped lower, but he just dipped into the slickness of her folds for a second before quickly turning his attention back to her clit. Her own wetness only added to the sweet torment of his touch, and that – in addition to his flattened tongue running over the gathered tip of her left breast – had her heated and chilled and panting and breathless all at once.

Damp breaths scudded across her fair skin as Snape marked his way further down her body in covetous kisses, the agonisingly slow movements of his thumb never stilling. Once he reached her lower belly, he diverted to the right and dragged his lips across her hip bone and down her leg. At her knee, he inclined his head and journeyed north again, only this time on the inside of her thigh, his sleek hair tickling her skin.

Sucking air in through her teeth, Hermione scrunched up her eyes. She tried her best to hold still, she really did. Yet as soon as she felt the ghost of his warm breath dance across the most intimate parts of her body, she could not stop her legs from kicking out minutely, could not stop her muscles from clenching up in nervous apprehension. But Snape held on tight to her hips. His sinewy arms, which had at some point unbeknownst to her hooked underneath her legs, kept her pelvis firmly on the mattress as he drew back and began kissing her other leg, downwards on the top of her thigh and then upwards again on the inside. Before he reached her centre though, he switched sides anew. He repeated his actions, his thumb meanwhile maintaining a steady pace on her clit, and this exasperating process was duplicated over and over and over again, to the point of utter vexation. Every time, his face inched closer to her pussy, but he never quite made the expected contact, never quite touched her where her traitorous body demanded it most.

Hermione was caught in an infernal spiral of anxiety and desire. She thought her whole body must be vibrating, humming with the sheer force of what could only be described as mounting, borderline angry frustration. Every spot of skin his lips touched was scalding hot, every kiss like a searing brand mark. She somehow felt like yelling and sobbing at the same time. Because right there and then, even though her heart was in her throat, more was the only coherent thought in her mind. This slow torture was simply not enough. She needed more. Something. Anything.

"Unnnh!" she grunted out – and he deigned to show mercy at last.

Giving her engorged nub one last upward stroke, he removed his hand and rested it on her belly. His fingers were drenched in her excitement; the witch could feel it being smeared onto her skin. But before she could ponder that particular oddity any further, something warm and wet traced the line of her sex. A silken caress parted her folds, and the sensation was so suffocating that she had to grab onto both of his forearms as though they were the only thing that could possibly keep her tethered to the real world at this very moment. A low, ragged noise resonated through the darkened room, and Hermione could not have said for sure whether it was coming from her or from Snape.

The feeling of his tongue… it was exquisite. Her toes began to tingle curiously as the soft flesh lapped at her wetness with bird-like fluttering movements that were not slow, but languid. Unhurried. Sweet Merlin. Twinges of pleasure licked up her spine as Snape tasted her. He explored her all over – straight up the centre, along the sides, left to right. Hermione could feel her legs begin to shake when the tip of his tongue finally dragged across her tender clit, so plump with aching need. As if on their own accord, her hands found the back of his head. Nimble fingers intertwined in silky tresses at the same that a strangled sob burst unbidden from her throat.

With his face poised between her thighs, feasting on her essence, the dark wizard growled – no, rather, he positively purred – in response, and the resulting vibrations caused every single nerve ending in her core to fire off in rapid succession. He was teasing her now, she was sure, drawing wide circles and then narrow ones, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, flicking his tongue every now and then in a way that made her eyes roll into the back of her head.

It was ravishing agony. This systematic deconstruction of all she had ever known to be true, this complete unravelling of her very being – it lasted for what felt like days. His skilful tongue kept pushing her higher and higher, closer to some unknown precipice but never quite allowing her to fall. Somehow through this thick, hazy mist of delectation and carnal bliss, she was eventually able to sense Snape shift his position on the bed. But even so, she was still taken by surprise when just a moment later, she felt something stroking her sex, an unaccustomed, gentle caress tracing her entrance. This sudden development caught her off guard. Her body merely stiffened at first, and it was only when she felt the slight pressure of something trying to push its way inside that she snapped out of her stupor and attempted to pull away, to push his head away from her.

A firm hand wrapped around her waist and held her in place. Not hard enough to restrain her, but with just enough force to temporarily still her movements.

"Shh." His breath felt wickedly hot against her skin. "You're doing so well. So, so well. Just trust me. Please."

Hermione was sure that she was going mad. Someone must have secretly hexed her earlier, causing her to now suffer from the delayed effects of a poorly cast Confundus Charm. Or perhaps one of Snape's potions had indeed been laced with something after all. There was simply no other explanation as to why she so willingly and swiftly settled back on the mattress – settled back into a position where she was so entirely at this man's mercy – just a moment or two after his quiet utterances had registered in her brain. Her irrational actions could most certainly not be attributed to the low ripple of his voice that was still reverberating through her bones, bringing fresh need, fresh desire. It also definitely had nothing to do with the fact that the Potions professor had just actually praised her for the very first time in all the years she'd known him or the fact that his tone sounded desperate. Like he was begging – for reasons other than the curse.

Still, as soon as she felt it once more, that something trying to breach her opening, her legs involuntarily tried to clamp together. Yet Snape persisted, always pausing but never stopping, and in spite of her innocence, her body in its highly aroused state offered little resistance. By and by, his finger slowly pressed forward until it had at last slid all the way inside her. There was no pain; just a strange, somewhat uncomfortable fullness. Whatever stinging there may have been was quickly soothed by fleeting brushes of his tongue, and by the time he started to move, to plunge and twist, she was fidgeting again – not to escape his touch but rather to fight the sensory overload which threatened to inundate her wholly. Every measured stab of his finger, every drag of his tongue was marked by a whimpering moan.

Another finger joined the first at the same time that Snape sucked her clit into his mouth, and Hermione gasped. She sunk her heels into his lower back as the dull burn of being stretched collided with the curious sensation of feeling the blunt edges of his worn-down teeth graze her swollen bud. Her toes curled when his tongue began to swipe back and forth, the slow but steady movement causing her knuckles to turn white from her death grip on his hair. She bucked beneath him as if to remove him from her.

"Please, I –, I don't think I –, I can –"

Her barely coherent words became lost, bleeding into one another when Snape curled his fingers within her, suddenly brushing against a hidden spot deep inside her core that caused her inner walls to clamp down around his slender digits nearly to the point of pain. Still, he worked in and out of her tight opening, each inbound thrust stimulating this newly discovered part of her femininity in a way that stole all the air from her lungs.

Clutching fistfuls of black hair, Hermione threw her head back against the pillow with a wretched sounding wail. It was too much. It was all just too much. His fingers, his mouth, his tongue, his nose – his goddamn, perfectly hooked nose, pressing up against her pubic bone like that. The sensations were so intense that she was certain there was no way she could handle them all without falling apart. He was going to kill her.

The tingling feeling was moving up her lower limbs now, making her thighs quiver and tremor and jitter. All of a sudden, every nerve ending seemed to originate from between her legs. It felt like her entire body was convulsing. Flashing stars were falling behind her eyelids as something tightened in her belly, curling tighter and tighter around itself. The feeling continued to build and build until it became almost unbearable – and then the world exploded into colours as she finally reached her release with a strangled cry.